


The Wrong Brother

by TheEagleGirl



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Aged-Up Character(s), F/M, slightly AU
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-10-27
Updated: 2014-12-15
Packaged: 2018-02-22 18:12:32
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Underage
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,513
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2517104
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheEagleGirl/pseuds/TheEagleGirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Myrcella is in Winterfell with her family during the visit after Jon Arryn's death. She means to charm Robb, but becomes more besotted with Jon. This wouldn't be a problem if he weren't a bastard.<br/>AU, obviously.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Characters are aged up. Myrcella should be around fourteen, and Jon is around seventeen.
> 
> Follow me on tumblr! (the-eagle-girl)

Myrcella notices the bastard after Robb has taken her on a particularly nice walk through the Godswood.

At first she eyes him disdainfully, as if he would try to steal her necklace, or the particularly pretty cloak she has on. It's girly, but it looks nicer than his, a black one with snow clinging to it. He has a pretty face, nicer than his brothers, and the same curls even though his are black and his brother's are more red-brown.

Everything her mother has told her of bastards is mean, and Myrcella stays away from this Jon Snow as though her were the plague.

Robb, on the other hand, is a perfect gentleman.

He walks with Myrcella and Sansa, and holds his arm for her to take and leaves her giggling in her rooms later with a blue rose clutched under her cloak where her mother can't see. Myrcella doesn't know why, but somehow, she thinks her mother would think badly of Robb if Myrcella were to tell her how gallant he is, how princelike, how like the songs.

And then everything goes to hell.

Bran's fall impacts everyone. The king roars that they will not leave for another fortnight until they are sure Bran will not die, and suddenly the entire Stark family is behind locked doors, praying around Bran at all moments of the day.

Without Robb to distract her, and refusing to go _anywhere_ near Joff, Myrcella seeks out the bastard. Maybe he will provide some entertainment.

After all, she does have a fortnight left in Winterfell and no one to spend it with.

* * *

**one**

She finds him in the Godswood. His eyes are red rimmed and he is kneeling before a tree with the most _horrible_ face carved into it.

"Who carved it?" she asks, and Jon Snow spins so hard that he falls in the snow. Myrcella tries to swallow her laughter, but she can't.

Anger rears in his expression, until he says, oddly calm for a boy with such rage in his face, "No one carved it. The gods of the North live in the trees."

She looks at the tree. It doesn't look godly. It frightens her, how the eyes bleed blood and stare at her.

"Take me from here. I don't like it."

Gritting his teeth, Jon Snow stands up and dusts off his cloak, "Yes, princess."

He starts walking, leading her away when she clears her throat and looks pointedly at him. "You're supposed to offer your hand to a lady."

He glares at her, and instead of being angry, Myrcella feels guilt. She doesn't know why, so she marches over (not truly, that's not ladylike) and inserts her hand in the crook of his elbow. "There," she beams.

**two**

"Why aren't you with your family? Inside with Bran, I mean," Myrcella asks, and Jon, who is sharpening his sword with a whetstone, looks up sharply.

"Why do you think?" Jon says, and then adds, "Princess."

Myrcella just stares at him. "If you think sharpening your sword will scare me off, you're wrong. Why aren't you with Bran?"

"Because. Lady Stark won't let me see him."

"But he's your brother!"

"I'm a bastard. No one cares if I'm his brother."

Myrcella lays a hand on his knee.

He stops moving and looks up at her, surprised.

She pulls away, flushing, "You should still be able to see him."

Jon flashes her a look that could almost be a sad smile, if only he's move his mouth a few centimeters.

**three**

"Take me riding."

"No," Jon says as he finishes with his saddle.

"Why not?" Myrcella scowls at him.

"It's not proper."

She gapes at him. "What do you mean, not proper?"

Jon gets angry with Myrcella quickly, it seems. "Because. You're a girl and a princess. I can't take you riding without servants and the like. 'Sides, you mother will flay me if I touch you. Wouldn't want to get bastard on her precious baby girl."

Myrcella stomps her foot, "I'm not a baby. And I'm not afraid of touching you! See?"

She puts a hand on his chest.

Myrcella freezes the moment she touches him. Jon's eyes are locked on hers and she is aware that she is too close to him. He clears his throat. "I need to go."

She watches him get on the horse and ride away, but she can't move until he disappears from sight. He looks like he's trying not to turn and look back.

**four**

Myrcella won't talk to him and she can see it's wearing him thin. She doesn't care. She'll just hang around Tommen, the big baby, until it's time to go. Then she sees Joff baiting him.

"Come on, bastard. You think you can fight me? Give it a try then," Joff sneers. "I'll just beat you."

Myrcella can see Jon's face tightening as he whispers, "I am not a good fighter, Prince Joffrey."

"I'll have to instruct you, then," Joff taunts.

Myrcella isn't sure who she helps when she steps in and says, "Gods, Joff. He wouldn't even be a challenge. Why don't you fight that Greyjoy boy?"

Joff looks at Theon and smirks, and Jon leaves quickly. She knows she's hurt him, that his swordplay is a point of pride for him. But she's also protecting her brother from his idiocy.

**five**

Myrcella finds him in the Godswood again, and whispers, "I'm sorry, Jon."

He looks up at her, and she sees that he's been crying for his brother again. "Bran has a fever now. They don't think he will live."

She sits beside him, and gathers him in her arms, pushing his head into her lap and brushing his hair out of his face.

"Shh, shh, he will be fine."

She kisses his forehead, like her mother has done to her, and he stiffens. Then Myrcella realizes. No one's ever kissed his forehead like this.

She cries a bit too, but not for Bran. For Jon, and the lonely life he's lived.

**six**

Bran's fever breaks in the night, and Robb joins Myrcella for breakfast. He talks to her and she smiles in all the right places, but grows weary of his compliments quickly and when he leaves her, she looks for Jon.

He is in the training yard, and so she waits for him to finish.

"I've spoken to my mother," Myrcella says, "she says I can go riding if I stay in the Wolfswood, within sight of the castle, and take a guard. I've asked the cooks to make a lunch. Do you want to come?"

And there it is. An anxious feeling in her chest, as though he would say no.

He squints at her, sweat dripping down his face, "I-uh, let me change and I'll be right in the stables."

 

Their lunch is quite fun, and her uncle Jaime watches her and Jon warily, but amused, as if he can tell that Jon is uncomfortable with the attention he gets from Myrcella.

When Jaime isn't looking, though, Myrcella feeds Jon a raspberry and he flushes so red, she thinks he might burst into flames. She's teasing him, until she feels his lips on her fingers. And then it's not so funny anymore.

**seven**

Myrcella's kissed boys before, for fun and for practice. The first was Trystane Martell when he visited court two years ago.

She's never kissed a man before, and that's what Jon is, isn't it? He's seven and ten, a man grown, and when she kisses him in the stables, hidden by the walls of the stall they're in and the servant's cloak she's stolen from her maid, she doesn't expect the rasp of his beard on the corner of her mouth. Because although she's planned this kiss since last night, she can't have planned out Jon's gasp, and then his gentle grip even as he kisses her roughly. And his apology immediately after, whispered into her lips, for being so rough, even though she loves it. His beard scratches her mouth and leaves marks on her cheeks that fade only when she rubs her face later, after he is gone.

And he is gone by then, after he seems to realize what he's done, what he's allowed her to do.

Before he leaves, though, he kisses Myrcella once more and when he pulls away Myrcella sees the intensity of his gaze.

She will try again tomorrow, she supposes. Jon's far too good a kisser for her to just have done it the once.

**eight**

"Myrcella," he groans, as she finds him in an alcove overlooking the training yard. "Who told you I'd be here?"

"Arya. She says you come here sometimes."

"Well, now I'm leaving."

Myrcella blocks his exit. "No you are not."

Suddenly, Jon is angry, "You're a princess, Myrcella!"

"So?" She is suddenly angry with Jon, angry with everyone.

"We don't know each other. Barely," Jon amends, and then looks like he wants to swallow his words up.

Myrcella is speechless. Although she's only known Jon truly for eight days, it feels like forever.

He goes on, speaking quietly, voice terse with something Myrcella feels deep in her chest.

"You're a maid, not flowered-"

"I'm flowered!"

"-barely," Jon adds again, "and I'm a man, already."

" _Barely,_ " Myrcella spits at him.

He looks hurt for a moment and then his expression is hardened. "Besides, I've decided to join the Night's Watch after the king's visit is finished. You're leaving in five days," he reminds her.

Myrcella blinks, and he is gone.

**nine**

She doesn't talk to him all day, but not for lack of trying. Jon avoids her, and she is so desperate for company she takes Robb from Bran's rooms and goes for a walk with him.

She's started thinking of him as Jon, not _Jon Snow_ , and she wonders how she could feel this way about a stranger.

_Because he's not a stranger. You know him. You're a child, Myrcella, a girl who loves too easy and doesn't know how painful the world is._

She cries at night, her bed shaking softly as she thinks of him.

**ten**

"Jon," she says, and there is a moment where he looks up and smiles with his eyes, the way she knows he does without moving his mouth at all. But then he remembers who she is, and who he is, and his face contorts into a frown.

It's only hours after Myrcella shed her last tear and gotten up. The morning has not quite started yet, and she's in his chambers, dressed as a maid in the cloak from their kiss in the stables.

He isn't asleep when she creeps in.

"What are you--princess, you need to leav--"

"Don't call me that," Myrcella says angrily. "I don't want to be called Princess, Jon, not by you."

She knows that she is not as... _developed_ as a woman grown, but she is beautiful. And it's time Jon realized that again. Myrcella's mother always told her that beauty is a weapon. So Myrcella wields it tonight.

Her hair is loose, and she knows that he's never seen it this way before, and it shines in the dimness of the room. Jon's eyes are drawn to it, devouring her face, her hair, her eyes, all with a single look.

It helps, Myrcella knows, that she's wearing a simple red shift, and that it makes her look curvy and mysterious, like her mother.

"Myrcella," Jon's voice is choked, "I'm trying to do the right thing."

She knows that, she's always known that. But Myrcella is a princess who's always gotten what she wants, and she _wants_ Jon, by the seven, she wants his kisses and his beard tickling her skin and her neck, and she wants him above all.

So she leans forward and grabs him roughly by his nightshift (he's not wearing anything else, she knows, and her heart stutters and she can't breathe).

"I don't care," she growls. "I don't care," she kisses him where she can reach, and that's his collarbone. "I don't care," she whispers and drags him down to her level and finally he lets her.

His beard scratches her face, and she _loves_ it. It makes her feel free.

Myrcella's never been in a man's room before, and the sudden fear makes her knees shake, when he lays her on the bed. "I won't do it," he whispers, and she relaxes, until she feels his lips go lower, and then she bites her hand to stop her from making noise.

When Jon's done kissing her _there_ , he kisses her lips again. Her thighs are red where his stubble scratched, but Myrcella doesn't care.

She doesn't think she ever will. Her heart is bursting and she can barely breathe. Neither can Jon, it seems. Soon, she has to get up and leave, but at that moment, Myrcella holds him, chest heaving, and doesn't let go.

**eleven**

Mother tells Myrcella that people are talking, and that she must stop spending time with Ned Stark's bastard. It is beneath her.

Myrcella's thighs rub with that sweet soreness from last night, when she snuck into Jon's room again, and she knows she won't stop. Jon is too good to her.

Her uncle Jaime looks at her as if he knows what she's thinking. He can't know, but Myrcella feels like he does, anyway.

 

He finds her this time, and she is in the gardens, her guard left at the gate.

They do nothing but the talk seems less than innocent to Myrcella, as she imagines again for the millionth time his head between her thighs, his smile against her cheek, his mouth against hers.

He is asking her about her family, and they talk for an hour about Tommen and Joff and Mother and Father. She giggles when he does an impression of Tommen fighting in padded armor, and he laughs when she mimics Joff to him.

Myrcella thinks she's in love.

**twelve**

If this is love, Myrcella is a jealous lover.

Jon talks to a serving girl at dinner, and even from across the dining hall Myrcella's stomach is in knots. The serving girl is older, curvier, _filled out_ , and leaning against Jon when she laughs. Her breasts are almost falling from her corset, and Myrcella thinks of her own, which Jon had touched carefully. They'd been small, _tiny_ , against his hands.

_Stupid 'Cella. You're a little girl trying to be a woman, playing dress up with the big boys._

It almost makes Myrcella happy that Jon is going to the Watch as soon as she leaves. She wants him to only think about her.

The thought sobers her up. In two days, she will be leaving. Then he will, as well. No more hurried kisses, no more hiding marks on her chest from the maids. No more Jon.

She cries out in pain when Tommen drops a plate on her hands. Her mother allows her to be excused, and Myrcella runs to her rooms, shame and longing twisted in her chest like a snake.

**thirteen**

Myrcella tells her mother that she thinks she's in love.

Despite any faults, Queen Cersei is smart and observant, and she knows that something has happened. Myrcella cries into her mother's shoulders, sobbing, about how she _knows_ she shouldn't love Jon, but she does.

Cersei holds Myrcella, and finally tells her, "Darling girl, I know what it's like. Shh, don't cry. We're leaving tomorrow, and we must pack."

At lunch, Cersei surveys Jon, and then Myrcella, and although she is filled with contempt for this bastard, she _knows_ what it's like, to love someone she shouldn't.

She follows Myrcella-discreetly, of course- to the Godswood later, and watches the bastard hold her weeping daughter.

"I'm going _home,"_ Myrcella wails, and the bastard holds her, kissing her hair, "And you'll go to the wall. Oh, Jon, what do we do?"

"What can we do, Myrcella? You knew, didn't you? When you first kissed me, you knew this would happen."

The bastard boy's voice is choked, and for an instant he looks like a young Ned Stark.

"We could-we could _run_ together, Jon. We could! You can hunt, and I-I could sew and we'd be husband and wife, and I-"

Myrcella realizes how she sounds, and stops.

"Myrcella. Look at me. You would hate your life. If we did that, you would hate it. You would hate me."

" _Never,"_ Myrcella snarls, and Cersei sees the boy touch her shoulder. _"_ _I would never hate you,_ " she hissed.

"Myrcella, you're a princess. You've grown up in luxury. You need- you need a lord, who is out of the songs, who will know poetry and be a knight, and-"

"I don't care! _I don't want that._ I don't want a lord, Jon. I want you."

He kisses her sadly, and to Cersei, it is Ned Stark kissing a younger version of her. Maybe she would have been happier with him, though gods know she hates the man now.

**fourteen**

They are leaving.

Myrcella spent the night in Jon's room, and they do little more than kiss and cry (she cries, he just holds her) even though she wanted more. Jon had shaken his head and told her that he wouldn't take her maidenhead.

"You're a princess, Myrcella. I love you, but that's not something I can take from you."

After, she cried because she loved him too, gods damn him.

"It's all my fault," she'd said, in a quiet moment. "I shouldn't have spoken to you that first day."

Jon touches her face. "I'm glad you did."

"I love you." Myrcella's voice is even, and she kisses him, hard, with teeth, the way he's shown her, "I will love you forever. No one else, Jon."

He nods, "No one else."

She leaves, and his heart shatters.

* * *

When the royal family comes back to King's Landing, Varys watches them. They seem much the same, but now the Princess's smiles are daggers, her words sharp as a sword.

Somehow, the princess has become a player in the game during her time away. Varys resolves to find out why, and waits for his little birds to whisper in his ears.

* * *

Jon sees her later, after wars have torn Westeros, after he's fought on the wall, after everything has happened and she is queen of Westeros. There is a scar on her face, and both her brothers are dead, but she's alive, and she's beautiful and fierce and everything he dreamed of on the cold, hard wall.

"You've come for men?" Myrcella says, her voice strong and hard in the throne room.

"Yes, your Grace. The Watch has just fought a war against the White Walkers, and we need more men. The previous rulers did not meet our needs, but I have decided to come petition you myself."

Myrcella smiles, and the court holds their breath. Jon Snow doesn't know, but this is her first kind smile in years.

"Of course," she breathes. Because she knows now why he, the Lord Commander, really left his post on the Wall for such a long journey that any man could have taken.

To see her.

* * *

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Myrcella's ascent to the throne after she returns from Winterfell.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I totally forgot that I had this chapter saved and not posted...but here it is! 
> 
> So this is a part of Myrcella's assent to power. Jon isn't in it much, except for in her thoughts.
> 
> Enjoy, and please review! I'd love to hear feedback!

Myrcella's first night at home is cold and distant.

Not cold like Winterfell, but cold like the ice in her heart, the hurt in her jaw from the smiles she's forced onto her face. She misses Jon fiercely and wonders if he's taken his vows yet, if he thinks of her late at night like she's thought of him on the road home.

(If he's met another on his trip and drowned his sorrow in a woman the way Myrcella's drowned her sorrows in anger.)

Even though it is wrong, Myrcella is so, so happy that Jon is in the Night's Watch. It's selfish, but she doesn't want him to forget her. She wants to be the last one, that last love he has.

* * *

After a long week back in the capitol, Myrcella becomes friends with Arya Stark. She's been better suited to Sansa before, but now she feels a kinship with Arya. They've both lost Jon.

_"You'd be a wonderful ruler, Myrcella. Better than your brother. You're smarter than Joffrey. You're kinder too. He's a little prick."_

_Jon's face is an inch from hers, their breaths mingling. Tears are wet on her cheeks._

_"I'm a girl, Jon." Myrcella leans her face forward, "I can't have that. Joff and Tommen will be king before I ever could."_

_Their lips brush, and he laughs shakily as her hand skims his ribs, "I know, I know. I was just thinking how good you'd be as queen. You're the best bet, I think. I hate that you can't be queen. I think you, and Arya, you two are strong. Most men don't realize how strong a woman's influence can be. Behind every great man is a woman."_

_"You're just saying that," Myrcella whispers, and she kisses him._

Arya is tentative with Myrcella at first. Myrcella knows that this is because she's stopped smiling sweetly unless there's a poison behind it, stopped pinning her hair in elaborate braids just as Sansa has started, and that she's frightening now, she can feel it.

Myrcella thinks that this is what Jon meant, when he said a woman can have influence. People listen to her now, and when she speaks, she cuts with her words. She's learning from her mother, but more so from Tyrion. Her mother is cruel to others, but Tyrion is clever _and_ cruel, when he needs to be.

Arya could be a good friend-a good ally-and better than Sansa. Arya is always unflinchingly loyal, in a way only a stubborn child can be. Jon's told Myrcella that much about his sister. Myrcella resolves to make Arya like her. She needs the Starks. She wants a reminder, Myrcella tells herself, of Jon. But by the time a moon has come and gone, she knows it is more than that. Myrcella wants _power._ She wants _influence,_ like Jon said. She wants to be better and smarter than Joffrey, stronger than Tommen. Jon told her that she was smart and strong and kind.

She's not quite sure if he would still call her kind.

* * *

Arya's been taking dancing lessons, and Myrcella wants to watch, anything to get away from her ladies for a few moments. So she follows Arya quietly, and hides as a man comes in with two wooden sticks.

"You've brought a friend!" The short man says, and Arya is angry and scared when Myrcella comes out. Myrcella is confused at first, until she sees the practice swords and grins.

It's a smile full of points, and she looks like her mother when she does this, she knows.

"I'd love to learn," Myrcella says sweetly.

"It would be an honor to teach you," the man replies, in a way that makes Myrcella shiver with anticipation.

* * *

Myrcella has started sneaking into the small council meetings. She and Arya have been exploring the castle, and there is a small opening from the floor above the chamber where the small council meets. She sneaks through the hole and listens from the rafters, dressed in dark trousers, like a boy, with her hair hidden under a cap. From here she listens to Ned Stark and Uncle Renly and Varys and Littlefinger and Pycell address the concerns of the kingdom. From this she learns that they are in debt to the Lannisters and the Iron Bank of Braavos, and that her father never attends the small council.

Her father is fat and old, and blusters like a fool. Before her trip to Winterfell, she would have made excuses for him, but now she just watches, and wonders how her father has kept the throne.

The answer comes soon enough. Men like Ned Stark and Littlefinger and Jon Arryn and the Tullys have kept the throne for him. He has sat back and relaxed while they bled and feared for the kingdom. Myrcella resolves to never be this way.

Through her eavesdropping, Myrcella learns that there are troubling tidings from the east. They say that the dragonspawn live still. Myrcella will write her grandfather about that.

She writes him often now, and if her grandfather has found her interest in politics odd for a girl, he does not remark on it often. He merely wrote, in one letter, _"hope that you learn from me and not your mother. She's never had a flair for subtlety. Politics is an art, girl. Remember that."_

She writes to him of the Targaryen girl, named Daenerys, who has married a horselord with an army.

His reply is swift. She must be killed. He will write the small council. Where in the gods was Myrcella getting this information?

Myrcella realizes that though her grandfather humors her with her interest in politics, he does not think a woman is capable of much.

Jon would never discount her so.

* * *

Mycella talks to Varys sometimes. He's vile, and he titters like a bird, but the spider is useful. He gives her information on the enemies in the court, in such overt riddles that Myrcella nearly strangles him for not saying what he means. But not truly, because she is a princess and so smiles prettily at him and thanks him sweetly. He says that people will not follow Joffrey once her father is dead, that they will only do so if he instills fear into them. Joff is a monster, and Varys's little birds say that the people hope for Robert's long life so that Joffrey will not rule. At least, that is what Myrcella has interpreted from Varys's confusing talk.

"And of Tommen?" she asks one day.

"They say wonderful things of your brother Tommen, Princess. He loves cats, and is sweet as only a child can hope to be."

Myrcella gets the message. Tommen is too soft. He is two and ten and still a child.

Sansa is also a good source of information. She chatters incessantly, but sweep aside the idiocy and there is was; the gossip of the court that Myrcella is too impatient to find. Sansa's voice always holds surprise and laughter as she recounts who was upset with who for what stupid reason, but never notices if Myrcella's questions seemed a little odd.

Arya, though, is the best one. She cuts straight to the point and has the good information. Arya's been spending time in the kitchens, with servents and street urchins, and she knows what people really think. She knows the happenings around the keep, and not just gossip that is available to all the court. She knows what the maids know, how Lady Rheseia has angered her father and been cut off from her allowance, how Lady Jeyne didn't bleed after her bedding, how Loras Tyrell has spent much time with her Uncle Renly. And although the thought of her uncle and Renly is appalling, Myrcella cannot fault him for his love. Not when she has loved someone forbidden as well.

* * *

"Your daughter has become...troubling," Littlefinger tells Queen Cersei.

The queen barely looks up, "Oh?"

"Quite a little bird, she is. Always talking, always lurking."

"A lion," Cersei snaps, "and speak plainly, Baelish, I've not the patience for your riddles."

Littlefinger inclines his head. "As you wish, Your Grace. The Princess has befriended the Stark girl. The wild one, not the lovely Sansa. I think I even saw little Myrcella yesterday after supper. Sneaking into the kitchen. Dressed as a boy."

Cersei looks up sharply, and remembers two children, hair spun gold, and a little girl switching clothes with her brother so she could feel what it was to be a man, if only for a day.

"I'm afraid you are mistaken," Cersei says, and her words are blunt and not nearly as effective as she would wish. "Myrcella was with me after supper."

Littlefinger nods his assent, ceding the argument to Cersei. "Just so," he agrees, "But she has been different of late, Your Grace. Ever since Winterfell..." he trails away.

The queen looks troubled.

 

"Dressed as a _boy?"_ Cersei yells. "Myrcella, if we were in Casterly Rock, I would allow this, but in the Red Keep...! What were you thinking?"

Her mother is a storm, about to erupt. Myrcella thinks on something Jon once told her.

_Your mother is beautiful, but she's got a temper. Like the Lady Catelyn, I suppose. And that anger twists her beauty. But still, she is a woman men will die for._

Aye. And now Myrcella wants that ability. She wants men to do _anything_ for her favor, and she wants it without the anger her mother carries in spades. So she remains still, and watches as her mother fists the servant's garb in her hands.

"I should have been born a man," Myrcella says, instead of, _I am spying on the spies in the Keep. The kitchen boys know more of your enemies than you ever will, Mother. You know nothing._

 _I should have been born a man._ It's a line Myrcella has heard her mother tell Uncle Jaime several times. If she were a man, she could have been a knight. People would see her differently. Myrcella has no actual desire to change her gender, but she knows that her mother wished, at some point, to be a man.

Cersei recoils physically, as though Myrcella has attacked her. "What?" she breathes.

"Joff and Tommen don't understand how easy it is," Myrcella says calmly, and although she is calculating her words, her mother doesn't see it. Her mother hasn't seen Myrcella's transformation since coming back. She thinks Myrcella is simply a lovesick child, pining after a bastard. "They don't have the men of the keep staring at them all the time. They don't have to sew and chatter with the dim witted Lollys about unicorns on tapestries. Mother, I did this so I could be _free."_

Freedom is nothing to Myrcella. She will never be free again, as Jon will never be free from his vows in the Night's Watch. But now, when she sees the shift in her mother's face, sees the sway her words have had, she knows that this is as close to freedom as she will get. There is no love left in the world for Myrcella, and ever since Winterfell, she feels the ice in her heart spreading. But this. This is close. She can't be free, but she can have power. Power over her mother. Power over Joff, and Sansa and King's Landing and the realm. If she doesn't have Jon, at least she will have power. Maybe then she won't feel so lonely.

And that's enough, she tells herself. Power will always be enough for her.

 _Jon,_ her heart cries, even as the ice walls grow thicker. And Myrcella can't stop her tears at night, as she remembers every kiss, every touch, every smile.

But now, she has power. A little taste, and she wants more.

"Jon," she whispers into her pillow, and the ghost that her memory is answers her back.

 _"Myrcella,"_ she hears, as though whispered on the wind.

* * *

Even with Myrcella's quest for recognition, for power, for control, she hasn't seen many results. People treat her differently, yes, as though the ground around her will break if they step too close. But there is no awe, no fear, that her mother commands. Finally, though, all of Myrcella's work so far has paid off.

"The Targaryen girl is dead," Grandfather announces, when he stands before King Robert in full court, "as well as her dragonspawn. The Khal is said to be mad with grief. His khalessar has split in three."

Myrcella sees the distaste on Ned Stark's face. "And how did you know of her whereabouts?" Ned Stark asks.

Tywin Lannister's eyes don't move to Myrcella, but she can feel them anyway. "I have my spies," Tywin says. Myrcella's heart soars. _He's speaking of me,_ Myrcella thinks. _I'm his spy._

Suddenly, there is one less contender for the throne. _Her_ throne. Myrcella can deal with that. She wants to celebrate, even. So she finds Arya, the closest thing there is to Jon in the Red Keep, and says, "Let's go find Syrio. We can go over that new sword movement he showed us yesterday."

Arya grins back at Myrcella and runs off to find the dancing master.

Her grandfather catches her arm on the way out. "I don't know what you're doing, girl," he starts, "but keep doing it. I need eyes on Ned Stark. Eyes I can trust."

Myrcella's face tightens. Is this all she is to be? A little eye on her love's father?

Tywin sees her expression. "Make no mistake, Myrcella. You did this. The realm is safe from dragons thanks to you. Keep up the good work."

 _The realm is safe._ Because of Myrcella. Suddenly, she sees her brother out of the corner of her eye, squeezing Tommen's arm so tightly that Tommen cries out.

It will never be safe with Joffrey.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HEY! Please review if you want to see more. Any prompts also can go in the comments.

**Author's Note:**

> So, I made Cersei kind of nice here, because it's important to remember that she was once in Myrcella's shoes (but hers had a little incest spiked in) and she loves her children. She's not ALWAYS a bitch.  
> Please review!


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